


Appear

by yeaka



Category: Logan's Run (1976)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quick moment at the circuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appear

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just a quick thing for one of my favourite movies. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

A figure forms in the circuit, shimmering into the shape of a man—not something Francis is in the mood for tonight. They’re open, yes, but other men just can’t _compare_ , whether or not he should be comparing them at all. He slumps back in the couch, ready for a polite rejection.

Instead, the particles materialize into a too-familiar face, perfect blond hair and perfect blue eyes, straight teeth and broad shoulders. Logan flashes a charming smile and steps off the platform before Francis can say a word, though Francis would never send him back anyway. It’s strange to see him in civilian gear: not the uniform or the casual, barely-there cloaks around the apartment. This offers little more coverage. The blue material is fit for the circuit, but it’s so thin it might as well be transparent, and it barely covers Logan’s thighs: a short little toga, secured to his neck by the metal collar. Francis is grinning wider than he means to, and he laughs as Logan strolls towards him, “How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?” Logan’s tone is so much more innocent than he is. Francis spreads his legs in invitation but doesn’t reach out; Logan’s the one that stepped into the circuit; he’ll be the one to work for it.

“Rig it so you’d end up at my place.”

Logan has the nerve to quirk an eyebrow and proclaim, “What makes you think I set it to come to you? Maybe I was just feeling... adventurous. Coincidences happen.”

Not likely. Sandmen don’t have to play the odds. But Francis lets Logan keep his cover in the interest of keeping the game going. Logan’s skimpy dress sways as he moves, and in seconds, he’s around the glass coffee table, climbing into Francis’ lap. His knees dig into the couch around Francis’ body, and Francis is starting to wonder why he ever bothers with the circuit when he’s got someone specific to call. That’s not the way things are done, he supposes. Maybe they should be, sometimes. 

Logan’s strong hands land on his shoulders, and Francis lets his fingers grab onto Logan’s hips. He can feel Logan’s soft flesh beneath the fabric. He squeezes and pulls Logan forward until their chests collide, and Logan leans down, head tilting. Francis feels vaguely inclined to make a joke about Logan being naughty, gallivanting around like that; maybe he needs a proper sandman punishing. But then their mouths are slipping together, and all coherent thought is gone. 

Logan tastes like wine. He doesn’t smell like it—just raw and musky, like he took care of himself before coming over. Francis doesn’t mind; Logan is young and virile and will likely be easy to arouse again. While their tongues clash, Francis deftly unties the sash at Logan’s waist, slithering it out without looking. Logan just flattens further into Francis, his fingers sliding into Francis’ hair, his hips grinding into Francis’ stomach. Francis moves up to the collar without moving their lips apart, and he traces the rim: he always likes the look of it around Logan’s neck. Or maybe it’s just that Logan never wears it for anyone other than him. He wants to leave it on. He pulls the material out from under it instead, tugging until Logan helps. 

Logan struggles through it but presses more kisses into Francis’ mouth the whole time, desperate as he always is. There’s a fire in him that’s rare, exciting. Maybe that’s why Francis loves him so much. His attentions are intoxicating. Finally the toga’s tumbling off Logan’s shoulders, and Francis is tearing it all away, shoving it to the side. He runs his hands all over Logan’s bare body, sculpted and perfect in every way. Francis is lucky, _so_ lucky. 

Francis shifts his arms around Logan to secure his back and legs, then climbs off the couch and scoops Logan up with him. He makes a short, “Oof,” noise at Logan’s weight like he always does, and Logan swats at his shoulder. Francis barely notices: he’s got an armful of naked lover and his head’s intent on the bedroom. His uniform’s grown too hot and tight. 

Then he’s dropping Logan onto the mattress, ready for his own personal sanctuary.


End file.
